


As Our Days Go By

by miniwheats



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, You might miss it, You will almost definitely miss it, barely though - Freeform, rhink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:21:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miniwheats/pseuds/miniwheats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>POV of Link, observing and suffering through his denied feelings for his best friend, blood brother, Rhett. </p>
<p>My first fic on this site</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Our Days Go By

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on this site. Any feedback is appreciated :)

It was the days of simplicity that made them. The days where every fine edge was bathed in the beauty of eachother’s warm glow. The days where a smile passed contagiously to brighten the other’s soul. But only one would cogitate these days with an irritated passion. Only one would wish each day would last longer.

Under the artificial lighting and waiting cameras. A glance would occur. And not one of regularity, but of longing and endearing heart-ache that would linger for perhaps a few moments too long. Surely no one would notice, except for the man to his right who would shift uncomfortably, perhaps knowing of the other’s avidity.

During the casual conversations in their “show after the show”; the ones he adored most. Anxiously fiddling with his wedding band as if it was an item of absolute incarceration. He could never keep it in place in this weary dialogue. As if the adornment was burning around his finger while he fantasized the complete illusory.

As guests of honor at an awards night, or a fellow creator’s channel. The nerves would kick in, just as when they were young. He felt clingy and anxious. His main focus was his other half, the other man. Despite his inquietude and unease, he appreciated these rare occurrences. It gave him a long awaited excuse for his lingering stares and frequent contact. The other could only assume it was his friend’s volatility. And that made it okay in the eyes of viridian. Okay to be attached. Okay to be tender. But all in all, the cerulean eyes saw the truth. They knew it was out of pity.

Over the nights of ardent camping trips. As the other would stoke the flames of the dying fire while their beloved kin dozed off in their assigned tents. His strong brows now glazed in the dancing heat. Green eyes so cool now doused in the burning reds and oranges; drowsy from the late hour. Much needed silences hung in the patient air, fully appreciated by both men. An occasional light remark about perhaps one of the children or each other, causing the troubled man to question. His progeny: the pride of his life. Made by him and another woman. His “true” lover. Yes, he loved them all fervently, without a doubt. But after a man has created such beauties, is he no longer allowed to dream? To believe that there are alternate possibilities he could enjoy while still being ever-loyal to his ones first?

But it was really his blood brother who was first. The man of astounding heights and burning blonde hair. The man who was guarding his right side since first grade; who had mixed his crimson promises with his own until they rapidly aged into a dull brown. Just like the two were meant to do together. And those crimson days sure passed quick, the brown days already there.

Even the days and nights alone plagued him with desire. As he lie in bed listening to the esoteric rain next to his perfect wife, her soft breaths harmonizing with the drizzle. He would turn to stare at her kindly face, still as virtuous as it was the night he fell in love, over fifteen years ago. But there was another face, just as untarnished. He lay a few miles away, most likely resting easily alongside his perfect match whom he would rather spend his last days with. The man wished it were the same for him.

Their weekends apart, when they were supposed to spend their time with their children and wives, and enjoy every waking moment together. The man loved these days as much as any other; loved seeing his children’s bright faces, oblivious to any awry notions of their father. But a tickling sadness would be embedded in his brain. He needed that man like nothing else. His other blonde beauty seemingly never enough. His own discordant thoughts could easily, unfortunately, imagine the tall man, an arm around his lover’s waist, watching their sons with glee and no regret. These thoughts made him a jealous monster, bent on his own dissatisfaction.

What did he do with these convoluting needs and hopes? He kept them trapped inside, a building wall of anguish and confusion. This emotion stayed hidden as best he could, and he only let it out when alone. These moments were of little recollection to the man, simply recalling rage, fear, and lust. These were his days of sin; of angry fantasization. When it was over, feelings of absolute disgust showered him, along with an unsettling layer of leftover angst.

He would come home on these nights, to a forgiving blonde virtue. She would coddle him; lead him to their shared bedroom with little to no questions asked. She would tuck him into their bed, questions rampaging her mind, but forever ignored. Pull up the blanket over his quivering body; covering up more and more secrets, just like the ones the two had shared in the exact bed. Mostly forgotten by the next morning; only a trail of longing and inquisitiveness left behind.

Facing the man of his worst nights was just as difficult. It consisted of impatient glances and acrid responses. Frustration boiled inside him and all he ever wanted to do was to embrace the man and kiss him senseless; to let out all his feelings and just set it straight. He dreamed of living with felicity. His wife and children still ever-present. All the while making the most passionate of love to his other half. His sole heartbeat. And both sides would know, and both would allow.

But such dreams were nothing if not anything. If such dreams were not acted upon, then such dreams were nothing but waiting sorrow. He would have to let his dreams stay dreams, and keep his realities close.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, feedback is appreciated. I might write more short fics (or long???) if this is well-liked.


End file.
